


Home Smells of Cigarette Smoke and Bread

by NachtGraves



Series: Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Tumblr Prompt, i have a headcannon where Lotta likes to play matchmaker, of the anime, short time skip after ep 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachtGraves/pseuds/NachtGraves
Summary: Nino never refers to his apartment as 'home'.





	Home Smells of Cigarette Smoke and Bread

**Author's Note:**

> I have a problem where I set out to write no more than 1-1.5k and then I take like a month and you have a 3-4k fic. although I do wish I could write this much and frequently for my original fic wips that months into rotting from lack of updating. whoops.
> 
> Prompt: Coming Home
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://nachtgraves.tumblr.com)

Jean’s been gone for about two weeks now.

It’s one of the longest trips he’s been on, and while he’s called Lotta most nights, he’s often exhausted and barely there. Lotta sends him off to bed or to take a much needed nap. Nino’s been privy to Lotta’s concerned complaints; he himself has received a few texts and calls, though most have been requests to keep the younger Otus company and watch out for her (in her borderline obsessively protective older brother’s place). But there are times where Jean’s calls and messages are personalized for Nino, and it’s all Nino can ask that Jean spend those few minutes of his free time on him, instead of on Lotta or resting up.

It’s coming onto day 16 of Jean’s ambiguous and lengthy business trip and Nino is house-sitting for the Otus siblings. Lotta’s gone to Dowa to see Prince Schwan and her grandfather, who’s been kicking stronger than anyone had thought, but illness is always a cause for concern. She was in a rush to leave and Nino was more than happy to be called last minute to take care of things in both her and her brother’s absence.

The main reason for his employment as a house-sitter is Lotta’s new hobby. In the recent weeks she’s picked up gardening, and Nino is more than adept enough at watering plants on a schedule. Besides, watching over things is something he’s not a stranger to. Since the attempted coup and Furawau’s secession from the Dowa Kingdom, Nino’s had some time on his hands, even with his new job at a small newspaper company. In those early weeks, up to the recent months, he hadn’t been too sure of his place in Bādon, or his place with the Otus siblings.

Nino lays on the couch where he and Jean have fallen asleep a few too many times after nights of drinking and stares up at the ceiling. He could go back to his own small apartment, but the Otus home has a warmth and comfort and something indistinguishable that his apartment simply lacks. It’s a vague feeling he can’t place but it makes him quite reluctant to leave.

Thinking back, he remembers the days when he tried to stay away, remove himself from Jean and Lotta, and how miserably that failed within days. He recalls moping about in his apartment trying to convince himself to get rid of his copies of Otus family photos, and the surprise of Jean knocking on his door and taking him to the bar they frequented. Jean pointedly getting drunk without Nino’s persuasion and needing an escort home. Lotta’s remarks of missing seeing him around after they put Jean to bed solidified Jean’s point and soothed the growing ache in Nino’s chest.

He’s not sure when, but at some point between the sun sinking between buildings and the stars shining as bright as they can through city light pollution, he fell asleep. He awakes with a familiar crick of sleeping on a couch. The Otus couch is a very comfortable couch, but it is still not a bed. He very well could have slept through the night, but he’s a light sleeper. No one was supposed to be coming home, but Nino recognizes the sound of a rattling door handle and a muffled curse.

Getting up from the couch, Nino tiptoes through the dark and silent apartment, guided only by the city light filtering in through the windows. He searches out for a weapon of some sort on his way to the front door, but only finds some of Lotta’s cooking and pastry magazines. It’s as good as anything, so he rolls one up as tight as he can and hides against the wall that turns into the entryway. Whoever was trying to get in seems to succeed just as Nino’s in position, substitute baseball bat ready in his hands and prepped for a swing. The light from outside the apartment floods the entryway and a shadow stretches out, the head coming to just in front of where Nino’s standing. He’s about to bring glossy paper to human skull, using the shortening shadow as a reference, when the intruder calls out: “Lotta?”

Nino abruptly loosens his grip on the magazine, letting it unroll in his palm. The lights flicker on and Jean stands, hand frozen on the light switch as he sees Nino.

“Uh, hey. Wasn’t expecting you to come back tonight,” Nino laughs.

Jean’s eyes scan Nino from head to toe, lingering on the loosely rolled magazine before meeting Nino’s eyes with a questioning frown.

Nino shrugs. “I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to you coming in – thought it was a burglar.”

“So you grabbed one of Lotta’s magazines.” Jean’s mouth quirks slightly and Nino can only smile helplessly back.

Jean moves from the light switch and Nino follows after him into the living room. Jean drops his travel bag by the coffee table and collapses onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Nino leans against the wall and watches. He’s so used to watching Jean. It’s habit to catalogue every twitch in the blond’s expression and he knows every detail of Jean’s routine movements. He’s familiar with the way Jean sprawls across his couch, head tilted back and arms draped along the backrest. The way he tugs his tie loose, blindly reaches for his cigarettes and lighter. The way his lips close around the stick and how smoke streams gently from his mouth in a relaxed sigh.

Jean slides his gaze to where Nino’s standing. “Sit down, the couch doesn’t bite.”

“Lotta’s going to be mad at you for smoking in here,” Nino responds, but he takes a seat as told.

Jean rolls his head so he’s got half his face smooshed against the couch but can look at Nino easily. “Speaking of, where is she?”

Nino tilts his head in surprise. “Did you not know? Your grandfather’s sick and she was worried so she flew over yesterday. She asked me to house and plant-sit, which is why I was here.”

Jean sits up, frown on his face. “Grandfather’s sick? He called me just a few days ago and seemed perfectly fine.”

Nino just shrugs. “It’s what Lotta said when she called me, asking me to look over the apartment while the both of you were gone. Wasn’t expecting you to be back so suddenly.”

“I told Lotta I was coming back tonight or tomorrow morning though.” Jean’s lips quirk even more downwards, perplexed. Nino’s just as confused for a moment before he remembers that nosiness and plotting behind peoples back for their own perceived good is a Dowan royal family trait. He hopes his face is as impassive as ever.

“Maybe she forgot. In any case, I guess I’m off plant-sitting duties,” Nino says, trying to change the direction of the conversation, “I should head back, it’s late and I really didn’t mean to fall asleep here earlier.”

Jean shakes his head. “You can spend the night. It’s not like you haven’t numerous times before.”

The statement is true, but Nino needs to remove himself from Jean’s presence. Lotta plotted to get them alone together for whatever reason but he is not about to ruin something he’s already got too fragile of a hold on. He gets to his feet and waves Jean off.

“Yeah, but I have some work to do and all my material is at my apartment.”

Jean stands as well and Nino’s halted by a firm grip around his lower arm. Nino wants to pull away, but he also desperately wants to come closer. He settles for not moving at all and staring at the point between Jean’s brows.

“Have you eaten?” Jean asks, his question abrupt and innocuous.

Nino shakes his head. Jean smiles.

“Then have dinner with me. I don’t like eating alone.”

Nino opens his mouth to refuse but he soon finds himself seated at the Otus kitchen table across from Jean with a plates of rice, pork, vegetables, and, of course, dinner rolls, laid out before them. Jean’s half-finished cigarette smothered out in the ashtray leaving only a faint trail of smoke. He smiles. There’s no refusing an Otus.

“What are you smiling about?”

Jean points his fork over at Nino. The blue haired man just shrugs and busies himself with eating.

“Nino.”

The tone and cadence almost resembles a whine and really, Nino’s never stood a chance anyway.

“Just thinking,” he replies, and in an attempt to distract the vice-chairman of the inspection department, offers the last dinner roll and the tub of butter.

Jean takes the offerings but Nino doesn’t get away scot-free.

“Care to share?”

“How often are you, or even Lotta, told ‘no’ in terms of getting what you want?” Nino returns.

Jean purses his lips in thought and Nino has to redirect his attention to the last bits of his dinner. The blond eventually replies in slow and measured words as if he is still trying to think of a specific instance. “A fair amount, probably. No different than anyone else, I’d say.”

Nino can’t stop the snort of amused disbelief that bubbles up his throat and out his nose at that. He has to cover his mouth with his hand so he doesn’t spray food everywhere. When he looks up at Jean he has to consciously decide that the expression on the blond’s face is categorically a frown and even though his mouth is stretched somewhat close together and forward and his bottom lip is jutting out the tiniest bit and his clear blue eyes that catch the flash of a camera like polished crystals are marginally wider— _frowning_. The unofficial prince is frowning.

“What?” Jean demands.

Nino shakes his head and starts clearing up the table. If he doesn’t have to respond he doesn’t have to attempt to deny Jean what he wants. But Jean, unusually persistent at the worst of times, follows after Nino with his own plate, a determined shadow. Nino presses his lips together in a tight line to prevent both laughter and Jean’s answers.

Jean sighs in defeat and Nino lets a small smile of victory past his guard that Jean catches, if the narrowed gaze is of any indication and pouting— _frowning_ mouth. Nino really needs to go back to his apartment. He says as much to Jean once the last of the dishes are put away: “I should really go back to my apartment for whatever is left of the night.”

Jean, leaning against the counter, fixes his gaze on Nino in the way that seems to freeze all movement from the latter. The blue of his eyes and depth of his stare fixing the object of the stare in place until the blond allows to individual to move. Nino leans back against the counter, body twisted towards Jean and awaiting what he has to say.

“You know,” Jean starts, head tilting slightly. “You never call your apartment ‘home’.”

Nino frowns, confused by the way Jean has taken the conversation. He’s not sure what the blond’s point is and Jean can apparently tell. The blond’s mouth twitches upwards at the corner he always gets food smeared around and has to lick at with his tongue or dab at with a napkin. Nino finds it fortunate that Jean’s not as into creamy pastries as his sister and coworkers are.

“You never refer to your apartment as ‘home’. It’s always ‘apartment’, ‘place’, or even just _bed_.” Jean continues, and while Nino was distracted by Jean’s thin lips and subtle facial twitches, the blond had apparently come closer to the taller man.

“You’d almost think that ‘home’ isn’t part of your vocabulary, but—” and now Jean is right in front of Nino, to the point Nino is teased by the warmth of Jean’s body to the hint of tobacco and ash and smoke—“when you take me or Lotta back here, you almost exclusively call this place home.”

Jean stares up at him – those few centimeters Nino has above the blond seem to vanish – waiting for a response. Nino clears his throat and he would try to step back and create more appropriate space between them, but he’s against the counter and any movement away would be too obvious.

“Well, this is your home. What else would I call it?” he manages to respond.

Jean seems to come even closer.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“You never asked one,” Nino says.

He feels victorious for a moment before Jean blinks and then releases a soft _huh_.

Jean catches Nino’s gaze with his own. Nino can’t look away even though he knows he really should find some sort of escape route. The situation was coming to a split in the road where one path led onward, peaceful and uninterrupted, whereas the second path fell away into nothingness, the ground cracked and crumbling and dead. Nino knows that this split is unavoidable in his relationship with the blond, that at some point in their time together this split in the road was inevitable. He could only delay it for so long, and despite his effort it seems like he’s run out of back roads, scenic routes, and detours.

“Well then, here’s the implied question: why do you never refer to your apartment as home?”

With the blond standing and staring unwaveringly in front of him, barely inches between them, Nino can’t break eye-contact and any excuse or redirection disappears from the grasp of his heavy tongue like the wisps of smoke that cling only as a vague olfactory presence to Jean’s clothes.

“I haven’t considered it to be a home for a while,” Nino answers, surprising himself in the process.

He doesn’t know when, but it was likely after the death of his father and Jean and Lotta’s parents, probably around when he realized his feelings for the older Otus strayed from duty to friendship to more. It was a gradual thing, much like the development of his feelings towards Jean, but also his sister. Nino first adored her with a reverence brought on by her connection to beloved members of royalty. It was, and still is, impossible to not feel protective of and adoration for the young princess. Nino’s feelings for the girl grew into a responsibility of a familial, brotherly nature as his feelings for Jean grew romantic and wanting.

Jean seems to be just as surprised with Nino’s abrupt concession. But he quickly smiles and nods, as if he had already known the answer and was just waiting for Nino to catch up. Nino wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

“Well, since I know you’re lying about work, there really is no reason for you to not just spend the night. We have the guest room…” The way Jean trails off implies that there’s something he wants to add or suggest. His gaze flickers down the hallway towards the bedrooms and Nino watches the subtle movement of Jean’s throat as he swallows, preps his following words with a flick of tongue across thin lips.

Nino is almost afraid to ask but he can’t help himself. “Or…?”

“My bed is big enough for two.”

Nino isn’t sure if he hears Jean correctly, if his brain has warped the blond’s words to something that belongs in a fantastical, fictional world far removed from reality.

“Huh?” Nino so eloquently asks, or rather grunts. It’s really more of a vague sound of surprise and disbelief that changes pitch several times within the single syllable.

Jean gives Nino a knowing look. “Come to bed with me. Just to sleep.” He grins a little and adds, “For now.”

The fact that Jean’s face tinges pink even though Nino can tell the other man is trying to play cool makes him feel better about the fact his face is likely bright red and his dropped jaw is probably very stupid looking. His cool, badass biker image is in shattered pieces at Jean’s feet. But he doesn’t really care about it that much right now.

While Nino still can’t quite regain control over his mouth and ability to speak – still stunned into silence by Jean’s very blunt flirting, teasing? He hopes it’s the former – he can nod and follow Jean into the blond’s bedroom, led by his wrist in Jean’s firm grasp. Jean only lets him go to change into his pyjamas; a soft tee-shirt and a pair of flannel pyjama pants that are much too baggy on his slender frame but endears him to Nino that much more. With a quick, pointed look, Nino strips down to his boxers and pulls on a shirt Jean tosses him from his closet. Nino can’t help but subtly lift the neck and take a quick sniff, and from the way Jean smirks even with pink cheeks as he crawls into the modestly sized bed, he knows that he was caught.

He hesitates, but slides into the bed as well. Nino doesn’t know if he should turn his back to Jean, but when Jean settles on his side facing Nino, he reaches up a hand and grabs at the collar of Nino’s borrowed shirt and tugs him down, deciding for the photographer.

Nino isn’t sure if he was expecting the brief kiss or not. He’s been going on autopilot since Jean cornered him in the kitchen and his brain is only just catching up.

The kiss is brief enough that he almost thinks it didn’t happen, but the way he tries to follow Jean’s mouth after the blond pulls away says otherwise. Jean smiles and leans back in for another kiss. This one, Nino can close his eyes and enjoy, simple and closed-mouth. He pulls back and lies down fully on the bed facing Jean.

“We can talk about this later if you want,” Jean tells him. “I’m exhausted and really just want to sleep for a few hours.”

“Good night,” Nino says and Jean smiles at him before settling in and closing his eyes, his breaths evening out surprisingly quickly. Nino feels a tug of guilt at keeping the blond awake for so long when he likely had wanted to immediately fall into bed upon returning. He can’t quite bring himself to completely regret the events of the night, however.

Nino doesn’t fall asleep for a while. He can barely process what’s happened since he woke up from his accidental nap, much less how he’s ended up in this situation, this position. In Jean’s bed, next to the man himself who is out like a light, face soft and gentle in sleep, body warm and facing Nino. He settles onto his side, arm bent under his head and lets his eyes drift shut, relaxed. Each inhale fills his nose with soothing scents of laundry detergent mixed with a hint of salty sweat. Nino falls asleep, more content than he thinks he’s ever been.

In the morning, Nino wakes up alone but the other side of the bed has still retained some of the warmth from his missing bed partner. He pads out of Jean’s bedroom to see the man grabbing fresh toast from the toaster, one buttered slice already in his mouth and the remains of a cigarette burning out in the ashtray on the kitchen table. He’s wearing his glasses, thick rimmed and rectangular, equal parts dorky and adorable.

“Morning,” Jean says when he notices Nino, mouth full of bread but smile still wide as it can be. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Nino comes closer and something in him settles at the scent of cigarette smoke and bread.


End file.
